


Unsubstantiated

by KNSkns



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:22:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22973227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KNSkns/pseuds/KNSkns
Summary: When Tyler suspects unethical behaviors of Lorca towards Burnham, he enlists the aid of Culber and Stamets to intervene.
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Ash Tyler | Voq
Comments: 11
Kudos: 29





	Unsubstantiated

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Up through mid-S1. Originally created in 2019.

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

There's another world inside of me that you may never see  
There's secrets in this life that I can't hide  
Somewhere in this darkness there's a light that I can't find  
Maybe it's too far away, maybe I'm just blind. . .  
~ 3 Doors Down, “Love Me When I'm Gone”

Tyler watches Michael approach Seru on his biobed – her steps measured, hands open at her sides.

Seru, for his part, can barely look at her. “I could have killed you,” the Kelpian says in a low, somber voice.

That's not hyperbole. Tyler had surreptitiously watched Culber treat Michael for a pair of fractured ribs and a deep bruise that stretched from sternum to abdomen. Objectively he'd known the Kelpian could inflict a great deal of harm due to his size alone – but Seru is a prey species, made to flee, not fight.

Except, apparently, today.

“You weren't yourself,” Michael says gently, her tone both understanding and forgiving.

Tyler gets the understanding part; the forgiving part? Not so much. A person is always responsible for their actions, whether they're in their right mind or not. And from the scene he'd walked in on, Michael had been defending the tech more than herself.

The pair exchange a few more comments, then Michael actually lays a hand, very briefly, on Seru's arm before turning away.

Tyler's off his bed in an instant, following her.

“Hey, wait a sec,” Culber tells him. “You still – ” 

“We're good,” he says quickly, shoots the doc a smile. “Thanks.”

Michael walks out of Sickbay without a backwards glance, doesn't turn back towards him even when he calls after her.

“Hey, Michael, wait up.” It's easy for him to overtake her, to step directly into her path and make her stop. “What's up with you?”

“Nothing, Lieutenant.” She doesn't even look at him, just side-steps and continues down the corridor.

Oh, hell no. Without really thinking, he reaches out and catches her arm, making her stop yet again.

The look she turns on him is pure Vulcan disdain, but there's anger in her eyes.

He lets her go, raises his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Wanna tell me what's going on?”

At least she doesn't walk away from him. “I am confident of your assessment of the situation, as ranking officer,” she says coolly.

He'd known those words would come back to bite him, almost as soon as he'd said them. But what had he been supposed to do? He'd never have won a logic-based argument with her, and they'd needed that tech integrated into the crystalline structure to complete the mission. “I didn't say anything that wasn't true,” he tries to explain, voice even, non-confrontational.

“That is correct,” Michael agrees, “you did not.” Too bad her voice is utterly void of emotion.

 _She's not a Vulcan, she's not a Vulcan,_ Tyler chants in his head. But gods, everything from her stance to her voice screams otherwise. Everything but her eyes.

“Then why are you pissed?” he challenges, not sure what else to do. “What's the problem?”

“The problem, Lieutenant, is that you cannot be both lover and pull rank on me when the situation suits you.” Her words are clipped, formal. Again she steps around him. “You have obviously made your choice.”

Shit, shit, shit. He really should've seen this coming. Everything he knows about her – and maybe it's not much, but it's enough – warned him that she'd only accept an equal as a lover. After all, she'd chosen to be alone and single for years aboard the _Shinzhou_ as First Officer, rather than engage in power dynamics. It's a game she refuses to play, and he knows that, has known for awhile.

“Wait, Michael, please,” he says. “Seru's – behaviors – threw me for a loop. I wasn't thinking clearly. It should've been a discussion, not an order.”

It's enough to make her turn back towards him, even enough to make her take a few steps closer to him. Suddenly she looks very human, face flushed and eyes flashing. “Never again,” she warns, voice very low.

And maybe Ash hasn't been with a ton of women, but he's been with enough to know never to tell a woman she's beautiful when she's angry. Especially not this woman, who could well have him incapacitated before the words were out of his mouth.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Michael demands, her tone somewhere between annoyed and confused.

“What do you mean?” he stalls, trying to get himself back under control.

Michael isn't buying it. “You changed – you were displeased one moment, but then looked as if you wanted to kiss me. What happened?”

 _Don't tell her she's pretty when she's angry,_ he warns himself. _Don't do it, dude._ “I was simply conceding the argument,” he tries. “You're right, and I'm sorry.”

She tilts her head in a way that clearly says _Bullshit._ “You're not being truthful.” But her voice has softened, as have the sharp lines around her eyes.

“I don't want to fight with you,” he says truthfully. What he wants is the opposite of fighting. . .

“I see.” She blinks at him slowly, the tension draining from her. After a long, long moment, she steps into his space, fists her hands in his jacket, and pulls him down low enough to kiss him.

It's beyond passionate, almost aggressive – and it's nothing like how she's kissed him before. Ever. She bites at his lips, licks at his palate like it's ice cream. What the hell – he'd thought her reserved, nervous, maybe even inexperienced. But had she simply been holding back? For – for him?

Unbidden, flashes of half-memories crowd into his head, when he was trapped on the Klingon prison ship, and he wasn't – couldn't – but that was different, not at all like this, and those thoughts he violently pushes away.

The small, rough sounds she makes in the back of her throat end his higher-thinking abilities. Who the hell cares about the why? She locks her arms around his neck, presses against him so tightly he can feel every dip and curve of her body. It's not a conscious decision: he pushes her back into the closest bulkhead, smashes a hand against the wall on either side of her so that he can rock his hips into her. She wants more of an edge? No fucking problem.

“Still in public,” she mutters, but widens her stance so she can straddle his thigh.

His hand snaps down to her thigh, pulls it up until it's high on his hip. Good gods, they're going to do this right here in the middle of everywhere, and he can't seem to care. “So I'm about to be the most envied guy in at least half the ship,” he manages to stumble. She thrusts against him, and he can't stop his hips from snapping back.

“Not here,” she says, even as her other leg widens, tight against the outside of his thigh.

It's just reaction and need that make him slide his hands down the back of her thighs and lift. It's perfect, perfect, perfect, her pelvis exactly where he desperately wants it. Even through layers of clothing, he can feel the heat. Still he manages to grind out, “My quarters are close.” Because she may very well do this with him, right here and right now, but her Vulcan side will hound her mercilessly about it later.

She may not have sex with him ever again.

“Not – ” Her words end in a fierce groan, involuntary and wrecked. Her hips press down in counterpoint to his.

He wants – gods, he wants. He thinks, Be gentle – even as he's thrusting hard against her, desperate for complete contact, to feel and make her feel everything. He can already sense the tell-tale signs of his approaching climax.

“Michael,” he says desperately, voice wrecked. His hands pull he legs wider so he can fit closer.

Her body arches, her head hitting the bulkhead with a hollow sound. “Yield,” she cries out. “I yield! Your quarters or an empty conference room or a closet, but not here, Ash –“

It's actually painful to pull away from her, makes his chest constrict and his groin ache. But he complies, knowing he could force the issue, knowing he never would. He sets her down as gently as he can manage, but keeps one of her hands.

“Come on.” His voice is all gravel. He pulls her along to his quarters at an almost-jog, keeps her hand so she can't change her mind.

/////

The fun in the corridor left him barely able to walk. The instant the doors to his quarters slide shut, he crowds her against the closest wall, desperately hoping she hasn't changed her mind. Oh please don't let her have changed her mind.

When she pushes him away, he can't help groaning. He's not above begging, not at this point.

But she's only pulling something from her pocket: a bracelet that she quickly snaps around her wrist.

Tyler knows what it is: a device to mask her vital signs, making her undetectable to the Computer sensors. “Who are you hiding from?” he asks, momentarily sobered. Tilly, maybe? But surely the Ensign isn't that intrusive into Michael's life. . .

“No one,” Michael answers. “I just don't want to be found right now.”

Then she reaches for him again, and all his wonderings about the bracelet disappear. Now all his questions start with, “Can I –” and “Is it okay if –”

“Stop talking,” Michael mumbles. “Just yes to everything.”

The first time, they don't even make it to the bed. Tyler has to close his eyes and concentrate on catching his breath, feeling for the first time in months that his body belongs to him again, but has still somehow slaved itself to hers. The next time they do make it to the bed, but just barely, and he has to bury his face in her neck, knowing his spirit has slaved itself to hers as well, and yet he feels euphoric anyway.

There's no way he can say any of this to her – not now, maybe not ever.

“You've been holding back,” he accuses her, smiling. “Why so timid before?”

Michael ducks her head. “We were in public almost all the time. And – I was unsure.”

“About yourself? Us?” Both seem ludicrous to him.

She hesitates. “Of you. Because of what you've been through.” 

He can't decide if that's condescending or caring. With anyone else, it'd be the former – but with Michael, it's not. “That was – considerate,” he allows (not what he's thinking,) “but from now on – please, just be yourself.” He pulls her close again to give her a lingering, emotional kiss. 

She owns him completely and doesn't even know.

“As you wish,” she agrees, folding herself into his side and snuggling closer.

He never would've guessed she's a cuddler. It's perfect, because he loves touching her, under any circumstances.

Tyler is almost asleep, peacefully listening to Michael's steady breaths, when a loud voice suddenly is patched in by the Computer. “Lorca to Tyler.”

Tyler blinks, sits up quickly. “Here, Captain.” It's the middle of the night, where else would he be?

Beside him, he feels Michael stiffen, awakening abruptly.

“Go find Burnham and send her to my quarters. I have no idea where the hell she is, but send her my way when you find her.”

What the fuck?

“Acknowledged, sir.” Tyler turns to Michael, who has already climbed out of his bed and is collecting her clothes.

“What the hell, Michael?” he challenges. “Why does the captain want you in his quarters this time of night?”

Michael shrugs, her back to him as pulls on her pants. “To review tactics for protecting Pahvo, most likely.”

Her voice is curiously flat.

“Did you – are you wearing the bracelet to avoid him?” Tyler is getting a very ugly suspicion.

“Don't be ridiculous,” she returns, pulling on her boots. She still isn't looking at him.

He gets up, blocks her path. “What's going on here, Michael?”

Michael arches an eyebrow in perfect Vulcan disdain. “I serve at the pleasure of the Captain, as do you and the rest of the crew. I have to shower and get a clean uniform – give me fifteen minutes before you tell him you located me, please.”

There's more to this, so much more. And she's clearly not going to tell him shit.

“I have concerns,” he says, trying to match her tone.

“Well – don't,” she tells him. Briefly she squeezes his hand before leaving his quarters with far more questions than he feels confident asking.

/////

Culber is a doctor. As such, he knows he can be called up at any time, for any medical reason; he made peace with being permanently on-call a long time ago. Years of being awoken at all sorts of odd hours have made him a light sleeper.

Still, when the chimes to his and Paul's quarters go off, it's so disorienting that he can only blink at the ceiling, wondering if he'd simply dreamed the sound.

But then it comes again. And then a third time. Then there's just the sound of a fist pounding at the doors.

“Go away,” Paul grumbles, burying his head under a pillow.

But Culber climbs out of bed, bare feet cold on the floor, and goes to see who the hell is banging on their door in the middle of the night.

He couldn't be more surprised to find Lieutenant Tyler standing there. Well, if it was Captain Lorca, that would be more surprising, but the Chief of Security is a close second.

“I need to talk to Stamets,” Tyler says, all but shouldering his way into the quarters.

“Do come in,” Culber grumbles. He takes a closer look at Tyler. The man – is a mess. He's in uniform, true, but his hands are beating a nervous pattern against his legs, and there are deep lines of tension across his forehead and around his eyes. Barely looking at Culber, he says, “Wake him up. Now, please.”

“Calm down,” Culber replies, using his professional voice. “Tell me what's going on.”

Tyler runs a hand over his head. “What's going on is that I need to talk to Stamets right now, so wake him up.”

“Gods, Tyler, I'm up,” Paul grumbles, stumbling into the common room. “What is your fucking problem?”

“I need you to get dressed, get to Engineering, and report there's a problem with the Spore Drive that you need help fixing,” Tyler says quickly, his tone so clipped he must've practiced the words a dozen times in his head.

 _“Is_ there a problem with the Drive?” Paul insists, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“You're going to tell Lorca there is,” Tyler snaps, voice brooking no argument.

Paul gives him a surly look. “Why the hell would I do that?” 

“Because I'm telling you to,” Tyler returns sharply.

Culber isn't an idiot, and he's been in medicine a long time. He knows how to hear the things people don't say, how people have motivations behind all their actions, logical or not. And a pissed-off, on-edge Ash Tyler isn't that difficult to figure out. It's either about Klingons or – “This is about Burnham.”

Tyler looks at him – not worried, exactly, but more than just angry. Desperate, maybe? “Is there something wrong with her?” the medical officer asks.

The Lieutenant lets out a brief, bitter laugh. “How the hell would I know? She doesn't tell me shit. But something's going on, and I'm not just going to stand here and watch. So go get dressed and get to Engineering,” he echoes, glaring at Paul.

Stamets' grumpiness has turned into guarded concern. “Lying about the Spore Drive is a crazy ass idea. What aren't you saying?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tyler spits out, “Lorca ordered me to find Burnham and send her to his quarters. Right now.”

“Now? In the middle of the night?” Culber clarifies.

The doctor remembers when Burnham had become an official part of the crew, how she'd had to report for the mandatory physical. And he recalls how, beneath, her prison jumpsuit, she'd been covered with bruises in various stages of healing, how she'd refused to say how she got any of them. How she'd asked for a new birth control implant, her voice void of anything.

Culber had typed on his PADD, reviewing her medical records. “It should still be good for another six months,” he'd replied, confused.

To which she'd pulled back the Sickbay gown to display her left thigh, where the implant should have been, only it wasn't, a gnarled mass of scar tissue in its place. And along her thighs. . .

“Are those bite marks?” Culber had asked, outraged and disgusted.

“Origins are irrelevant,” Burnham had answered coolly, every bit the Vulcan she wasn't. “Attend to the injuries, please.” 

“Why would the captain want her this time of night?” Stamets asks doubtfully.

“I don't know – I'm pretty sure she lied when I asked,” Tyler grinds out, jaw tight.

Culber can think of a few reasons.

“Did you know she keeps a vital-sign blocker on her?” Tyler adds.

Paul asks, “Why would she do that?”

“Love, go get dressed,” Culber tells his partner quietly. “Hurry now, go on.”

Paul frowns at Hugh. “This can't possibly be what it looks like. Lorca's a bastard, sure, but – ” He abruptly stops talking, tilts his head, clearly reconsidering his words. “Nevermind, he absolutely would. Two minutes,” he tells Tyler.

Tyler nods sharply. “You, too, doc. You can help sell this.”

Any excuse to piss-off Lorca is good enough for Culber. And if Tyler's even halfway right about Burnham – 

He follows Paul back into their bedroom.

/////

Since Culber is a doctor, he can order a site-to-site transport anytime based on medical necessity. Since Stamets continually irritates Lorca, he has to get permission for any site-to-site transport. But Tyler, being Chief of Security, can do whatever he feels like whenever he feels like it (in the name of safety, of course.)

Tyler has the three of them in the Spore Drive Bay before Stamets is completely finished pulling on his boots.

“Now what?” Stamets demands. “We can't exactly cause real damage to the Drive.”

Tyler gives him a defiant look, moves to the drive consul. “What happens if this breaks?” he demands, pointing to the interface hack.

“Uh, we all die a violent death within sixty seconds,” Stamets says, as if he's addressing a child.

Culber thinks, _This isn't going to work._

“What about this?” Tyler asks, pointing to a corner of the consul. “Anyone get dead if this gets smashed?”

“Nooo,” Stamets answers slowly. “But it's not a good – ”

Tyler has already yanked out one of the Spore Drive canisters, brings it down on the consul with a resounding crash.

“Idiot, what the hell?” Stamets challenges. “How are we going to explain that?”

“You were feeling dizzy, tripped and crushed it,” Tyler answers.

Very haughtily, Stamets shoots back, “I'm not dizzy, and I sure as hell didn't – ”

Tyler's upper cut to beneath Stamets' jaw sends the genius reeling back against the wall of canisters before he stumbles to the deck.

“Uncalled for,” Culber tells Tyler sharply before crouching next to Paul.

“Page Burnham,” Tyler insists. “Now.”

Stamets gingerly rubs his chin and glares at Tyler. “Stamets to Burnham.”

There's a pause before she answers. “Burnham. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

“There's – there's a problem with the Spore Drive,” Stamets stumbles. “Come to Engineering.”

Again there's a hesitation. “My apologies, Lieutenant, but my presence is required elsewhere. May I call for additional assistance from someone else? Cadet Tilly, perhaps?”

Culber watches Tyler close his eyes, rub a hand over the back of his neck.

“If I wanted Tilly, I would've paged her. I need you here. Now, please.”

“Understood. En route now,” Burnham promises.

Culber helps pull Paul to his feet, even as Paul complains, “And when she gets here, then what? She's not going to be fooled by this – she's not Lorca.”

Tyler grimaces. “One problem at a time, okay?”

True to form, the Engineering Bay doors slide open a few minutes later, and Burnham comes down the stairs. Somehow Culber reads her both as nervous and anxious, although her composure is complete, nothing showing on her face. “What's wrong?”

“Just what I said: problem with the Spore Drive,” Stamets snaps, but his brittle tone is belied by his inability to look her in the face.

Burnhm looks to Tyler and Culber before walking over to the consul. She studies it for a moment, complete silence in the room. She takes in the smash-damage, the abandoned canister, the way Culber is assessing Stamets' quickly forming bruise, the way Tyler can barely stay in one place.

Less than twenty seconds. That's all it takes her.

“No,” she says firmly. “Someone used this canister to hit the consul. This wasn't an accident.” She jerks her chin at Stamets. “Neither was that.” Turning to carefully not-glare at Tyler, she summarizes, “You did this. You did minor damage to the consul, then struck Lieutenant Stamuts as a cover story. I'm not certain why Doctor Culber is here.” Slowly she blinks at Tyler. “Why would you do this?”

Culber intervenes. “Why is Captain Lorca ordering you to his quarters this time of night?”

Now Burnhm is annoyed, is doing her best disdainful Vulcan impression at Tyler. “What have you been telling them?”

“Why do you have a device that lets you hide from Lorca?” Tyler returns, voice low.

Burnham tilts her head, displeasure slipping through the Vulcan mask. “Jealousy doesn't suit you, Ash. Did you tell them that I was with you when Captain Lorca ordered me to report?”

“He's concerned for you, Michael,” Stamets says quietly. “We all are.”

She turns cool eyes on the engineer. “There's no cause for concern, Lieutenant. I can handle Lorca without complication.”

“Then why did he order me to find you?” Tyler growls. “Why now, instead of normal shift hours?”

Michael tucks her chin, stubborn. “I don't question captains' orders. Not anymore.”

“Please, Burnham. It's not the same,” Culber says gently, stepping towards her. “Look, Paul and I have known Lorca longer than you have. Our suspicions – aren't unreasonable.”

“Your suspicions,” Michael echoes, voice flat.

“What about your Vulcan dad?” Tyler says suddenly. “He's an ambassador, he could get you off the ship – ”

 _“Are you mad?”_ she hisses. “It would be a diplomatic nightmare – ” She stops, takes a deep breath, brings her emotionless mask firmly back into place. “Because of your concerns, I will tell you this one time,” she says calmly, looking at each man in turn. “I owe a debt for my crimes for which I have been sentenced. And I will fulfill that sentence – when this war is done. Until that happens, I will say or do whatever is necessary to accomplish that goal – without hesitation or reservation.”

Stamets isn't buying it. “Oh, Burnham, please. We have eyes, we see what's happening here. And you do, too, if you'd just wake up – ”

And Culber wants to groan and throw his hands up when the Engineering Bay doors slide open right then to admit Lorca himself.

“What's going on here?” Lorca demands, immediately taking in the tension.

Burnham relaxes her stance and replies, “Nothing, Captain. Lieutenant Stamets had a small mishap. Doctor Culber is tending to him. Lieutenant Tyler came to assure there was no deliberate damage or sabotage to the Spore Drive.”

“ETA to having it fixed?” Lorca doesn't even descend the steps to inspect the damage himself.

“Minimal time,” Stamets answers, his voice just shy of insubordinate (as it generally is when he talks to the captain.)

Lorca graces Stamets with his usual frown. “Then get on it. Doctor, I'll expect your report by 0900. Tyler – good job watching out for trouble. We have enough of that already.” He makes a _come here_ gesture at Burnham. “Specialist, with me, if you please.”

Burnham doesn't look at any of them as she walks towards Lorca.

Culber thinks, _She's right: this was about Tyler's jealousy._

But before the Bay doors close behind the pair, Lorca turns to smile down at Burnham, genuine and warm, and he puts his hand on the small of her back, guiding her where he wants her to go.

“That's – not good,” Stamets stumbles, seeming at a loss for words.

Culber meets Paul's eyes and shakes his head _no._

Tyler paces a few steps, silent, then picks up the abandoned Spore canister and hurls it at a bulkhead.

[end]


End file.
